I’m not big on self-promotion, so instead I’m going to tell you some stories.

That work for you?

—

About 15 years ago, I reached a crossroads in my spirituality. You could call it hitting a wall. You could also call it a moment when it felt like scales were falling from my eyes so I could see clearly. If you’ve been reading here at Still Forming for very long, you know this as the moment I realized I didn’t understand my need for grace or Jesus.

I’d been raised in the church my whole life and believed I needed Jesus my whole life — even had a pretty intimate sense of Jesus’ presence for as long as I could remember being aware of his existence. But suddenly, at age 19, a junior college, I had a moment of reckoning: I didn’t undertsand why I needed Jesus — you know, in a deep, profound, life-real way.

That led to the most honest prayer I’d ever before prayed: “God, can you help me understand my need for Jesus? If I need Jesus, can you help me understand why — and what that even means?”

—

That honest prayer was followed by two years of darkness. It felt like I sat down on the floor of my life and refused to get up until God answered my prayer. All the things I used to do, I stopped doing. I think I was, in the process, testing God’s promise of unconditional love.

It was a really confusing time.

But stubborn as I was, I knew it was important. So I kept digging in my heels and refused to move until I got the answers I knew I needed.

—

About two years into this process, I had another one of those “scales falling from my eyes” moments. I can remember the day so clearly. I was sitting on the couch in my little one-bedroom apartment in Huntington Beach, CA, and sitting across from me on the coffee table was my Bible.

Like a flash, it occurred to me that if I wanted to understand why Jesus mattered to me, why I might somehow need him, I could let him teach me. I could read through the Gospels — Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John — and let the records we have of his actual life and words teach me what I needed to know.

So I did.

I picked up my Bible, turned to the first page of Matthew, and just started reading.

—

Over the course of the next 3-4 weeks, I had what I now refer to as an immersive reading experience. I slid into those pages of the Gospels as though reading a novel, complete with characters and scenes and a lone, heroic protagonist: Jesus.

He came alive to me in a new way during that time. It was like he stood up inside those pages and started walking around and doing things. He became a 3-dimensional person, complete with personality, will, opinions, and a body.

It completely changed my life.

—

Fast-forward about a decade, and I was in a session with my spiritual director, talking yet again about one of the ways Jesus was interacting with my life in that current moment, and I said, “I just wish more people could get to know Jesus in this same way. I wish they could read through the Gospels immersively, like I did all those years ago now, and see what happens for them — how he becomes a real person for them too. I wish I could create a way for others to try it.”

I took her up on that challenge and worked to create a 6-week course experience called Look at Jesus that I offered in 2011 and 2012. We read the Gospels immersively, and with a bit of a framework and guidance from me, we explored Jesus together.

The first time I taught the course, it was full of people all along the spectrum of experience when it comes to faith, church, the Bible, and Jesus — some people who had been raised their whole lives in the church, just like me, and were very familiar with the Scriptures and with Jesus, but others who were brand-new to the idea of Jesus and had never before read a single word in the Bible.

It was an incredible experience, ripe with interesting questions and kind dialogue and new experiences for many.

Then I taught the course again, this time to just one person, and I discovered what a sacred gift it is to walk with someone in their very personal experience of faith and Jesus, tailoring the experience to their questions and concerns and letting the process be a very personal, safe space for exploration and discovery. We lingered where she needed or wanted to linger. We followed some conversations threads I’d laid out, and we didn’t follow others. The process was simply what she needed it to be.

And at the end of those experiences, I realized something: This is it for me. I need to do this more.

—

So I’ve spent the last year and a half — year and a half! — revamping the Look at Jesus course experience into a one-on-one companionship experience that a person can take at their own pace and in company with me every step of the way. It’s the most in-depth process and experience I’ve ever created, and I’m incredibly proud of what it is. I have been beside myself in anticipation of inviting you into it for such a very long time.

Tonight at our Thanksgiving Eve service, in response to one of the readings from Deuteronomy about Israel’s journey to the Promised Land, our rector mentioned the portion that said God had humbled them in order to see what was in their hearts (Deut. 8:2).

It got me thinking about this journey I took into carrying stillness over this past month — how unexpected it was that instead of meditating on the process of actually learning to carry stillness, it ended up being, for me, a process of arguing with God and resisting the process and eventually being humbled into a place of powerlessness and surrender.

Powerlessness and surrender aren’t popular words these days, are they? And, well, maybe they never have been. But I have discovered deep joy on the other side of these realities. In this season of my life and in past seasons of my life, letting down and letting go has always surprised me with its partnership with joy.

My therapist, Debbie, is someone in my life who often reminds me of the paschal mystery. This is the idea that God is always about the work of resurrection but that such resurrection always involves a cycle of death, then the tomb, then the life that bursts forth on the other side.

Death and the tomb aren’t popular ideas, either. It’s such a hard reality to live through (or should I say die through?) — death. And yet in my experience, I have discovered new life really does burst forth from the grave. One way this happens, at least for me, is through giving me the gift of not having to hold onto all things, of not having to hold it all together, of not having to carry all control.

I think God loves when we give that control and trust over to him. So really, it’s a win-win.

I say this is a very “still forming” Thanksgiving because when I heard Fr. Rob say what he did tonight about Israel and God — how he humbled them in order to see what was in their hearts — I couldn’t help but think about this process of formation that we’re continually about in our lives which is celebrated and marked and examined and invited in this space here. I love formation. I’m thankful for it. I love that it never ends.

God is always about the work of our formation. And a lot of times, that includes humbling us in ways that often hurt but are ultimately about giving us the greater gift of more and more life and more and more freedom. Thanks be to God. Amen.

When I left this space for an indefinite sabbatical in late May, one of the big reasons for that sabbatical was to evaluate my sense of the online world in its current incarnation and to determine, in light of that, how Still Forming could continue to best serve those who visit here.

For two years, I believed the best way for me to serve you in the increasing pace of life we’re living here in the 21st century was to offer a week-daily (Monday-Friday) oasis from the noise. To roll out the welcome mat five days a week so you could come in and breathe. Think. Reflect. Seek to live meaningfully in the midst of the swirling chaos that increasingly surrounds us.

But in May, I began to question that approach.

More and more, I felt I was just adding to the noise. Giving you one more thing to hear and attend to. Moving along at a pretty quick pace. (I mean, really. Posts five days a week? That’s a lot to follow.)

So I decided to stop. Do a little reflecting of my own. Turn down my Still Forming activity to the weekly email letters I write to the Sunday Quiet subscribers, the people I serve through ongoing spiritual direction, and my continued development of the Look at Jesus course. (Happy announcement: It’s almost ready to roll out. Hooray!)

It’s been a really helpful time of quiet for me.

I didn’t have any huge revelations about “the state of all things online” while I was away. Mostly, what I did was survey the landscape. And what I noticed as I surveyed was what I — and you — already knew: There’s a lot happening online. A lot of voices. A lot of content. So many ways people can connect and get information and fill their well with what they need.

But in the midst of that “no new revelation” noticing, I did find a new kernel of truth that I found helpful and which ultimately propelled me back here, and it’s this:

Everyone has their way of serving, and everyone has their way of receiving.

There’s no shortage of options for whatever you seek. Everyone has their way of serving, and everyone has their way of receiving.

And what I realized was this:

I need to keep serving in the way that’s uniquely me. And I need to keep the welcome mat rolled out for those who want to receive it.

I have said from the beginning that this space is about honoring the ways we are, all of us, still forming and that it is in the spaces of stillness we allow into our lives that we can perhaps best attend to what’s happening with our formation.

And so the blog is back, and this space will continue to speak to both those things: formation and stillness.

Though I can’t promise this time around that new posts will be written five days a week. :-)

I’ve made the decision to take an indefinite sabbatical from the week-daily posts here at Still Forming.

In the meantime, you are invited to join me for the Cup of Sunday Quiet mailing, which I send out each Sunday morning as a way to connect heart-to-heart with you while providing an opportunity for you to connect with God in prayer.

It’s one of the favorite things I do!

My time away from week-daily blogging will serve a threefold purpose:

Time for self-care. This season of beginning the work again has been intense, and I’m finding that I need space to just be with the process for now.

Space for creativity. Up ahead is a season of intense creativity as I give myself fully to the continued creation of the revamped Look at Jesus course. I’m excited about what it’s becoming, and it’s time to give it my utmost attention.

Room for reflection. I began the week-daily posts here at Still Forming two years ago this month (!), in response to the findings of my graduate thesis research on the subject of spirituality and digital connectivity. But the internet is a different place now than it was two years ago. During this time away, I’ll be reflecting on how best to serve you in this space as we move forward into the future.

Again, I hope you’ll join me for the weekly Cup of Sunday Quiet. It’s where I share the current journey of my life, my heart, and my work. It’s where I invite you to share with me your own life and journey. And it’s where I’ll keep you up to date on the status of all things Still Forming.

I’ve been attempting to continue the “Pieces of Formation” series all week, and here it is — Thursday — and I still haven’t been able to do it.

At first it was because of the Newtown shooting. I couldn’t just return to “business as usual” on the blog here, churning out a post per day like usual fare. I felt the Newtown Meditation ought to suffice for an extra day or two.

Then it was because of the truth of where I am. I’m in a time of discernment about 2013 and how it concerns this space. When I think of the 12 months ahead, I have a substantial pile of ideas I’m holding in my cupped hands before God.

Off the top of my head, there are at least 8 ideas in the mix. All of them have to do with going deeper. Much deeper than any singular blog post — or string of blog posts, for that matter — can go.

And so I’m holding them in my cupped hands. In silence. Listening.

This formation series is in the mix of those ideas. I’ve loved picking up the many pieces that exist in our formation, finding together the ways we’ve been uniquely formed by them throughout our lives. There is still so much to say and discover about these pieces. I want to serve you well in that regard.

To do that, for now, I’ve decided to close up the series in its current incarnation. I’m trusting that the discovery and examination of pieces will continue a bit later, in a way that will (I hope) serve you even better. I cannot wait to do that with you.

I’ll be going quiet on Still Forming through the holidays, not just for the holidays’ sake but also to honor this discernment process I’m in.

This morning, in my weekly letter to the Cup of Sunday Quiet subscribers, I shared the experience I’ve been holding these last 48 hours since the events of Newtown happened and invited readers to share their experience with me.

I also created a 12-minute meditation of silence and prayer to honor those affected by this event, which I’d like to share with you.

Kirk and I sat at the breakfast table this morning, enjoying our grits and coffee, and went back and forth sharing thanks for the gifts of this past year.

This online space came up in conversation several times.

He voiced his thanks for the email dialogues that emerge for me as a result of this website. He knows how much every single one of those conversations means to me, and how they continue to humble me, and how deeply connected they are to my sense of calling and vocation and life’s work.

I gave thanks for the Cup of Sunday Quiet, which was born in this space this past summer. It’s a joy to sit down each Sunday morning and write a letter from my heart to those who have subscribed to it, and to record the 10-15 minutes of lectio meditation that invites each person into prayerful encounter with God.

I’m thankful, too, for the turn toward a series orientation this website took in this past year. It’s become quite meaningful to discern the direction to take with each new series and then to peel back the layers of those subjects with you as we journey deeper into them each day.

I’m thankful for this space. I’m thankful for you.

Speaking of the series orientation of this space, we’re starting a new series on Monday. It will be a bit exploratory, meaning it will invite you into your personal journey to explore the stories it holds and their impact on you.

I’ve been thinking of this series a lot as I go through the hours of each day — and also of you, as you read it. I can’t help wondering how it’s hitting you. Is it familiar territory? Completely new? Does it feel just a bit overwhelming? Perhaps a lot mysterious?

I want to acknowledge a few things before we go on.

First, this is heavy fare.

We’re traversing into material a mystic saint wrote over 400 years ago about the movement of the soul into divine union with God. That’s heavy. And dense. Definitely not what we’d consider light reading or easy ideas to consider.

And so my intent is to traverse with care, as much as I’m able. To render John of the Cross’ ideas in accessible language. To give word pictures or examples where I can. To break this series into as many bite-sized chunks as seems advisable.

Accordingly, if you need more explanation about something as we go, please don’t hesitate to ask. I get that this is dense fare, and it wouldn’t surprise me if I overlook important distinctions along the way.

Second, I’ve mentioned several times in the series that the experience of a dark night is not your fault.

I wouldn’t be surprised if hearing that made you uncomfortable. Church teaching so often clangs the bell of what we could or should or ought to be doing in order to get results — or simply to make sense of our spiritual lives. Something doesn’t feel right and it’s not our fault? That seems really strange.

I know. It does seem strange.

Yes, we do participate in the growth of our soul’s journey with God. Yes, we are part of the relationship equation with God.

But John of the Cross wants us to settle into the idea that God is dynamically active in our process of growth. The movement of our soul is a very real presence to God. And in fact, most of the movement of our soul happens by his hand, not ours. The scriptures teach that it’s God who draws us to himself in our conversion. They teach that he’s the one who washes us clean. In fact, thematically through the scriptures, we get the sense that God has a much greater handle on what’s happening in the world and in us than we do.

And so, again, I’ll reiterate something true about the dark night of the soul: it’s initiated by God and not a result of something we did or didn’t do right.

John of the Cross would say, in fact, that a clear way to tell if you’re experiencing a dark night of the soul is to look at your desire. If your desire is for God and you still can’t seem to feel or muster the strength to approach God or your usual spiritual rhythms, you’re likely in a dark night season. (Conversely, if your desire is elsewhere and you’ve simply lost interest in the spiritual life in favor of other pursuits or forays, that’s something else entirely.)

Third, it’s important to note this is a season, not an instance.

Something is happening on the inside of someone walking through a dark night of the soul. It’s not happening from the outside. It’s not the result of a bad day, a wonky prayer experience, or a string of tough events.

It’s a process of formation inside the soul.

Which means it is a season — and often a long one, at that — with a number of shifts and turns along the way. We’ll explore those shifts and turns together through this series.

And lastly, if you’d like to read the saint’s words for yourself, I’ll recommend two translations.

The first is the classic translation that’s been in circulation as the standard for many years, by E. Allison Peers. This is the translation I studied in college, and you can get a pretty cheap edition on Amazon for about $5.

I’ll warn you that the Peers translation is a dense and difficult read, though, intent on a word-by-word literal translation of the original rather than an accessible, beautiful rendering of the saint’s words and ideas in English.

For a more accessible edition, I recommend the more recent translation by Mirabai Starr. Although this one’s suggested, too, with a caveat: It’s the first translation of John of the Cross’ work ever published by a non-Catholic. I had some concerns about this fact when I began reading it, especially given some of the notes shared by the translator in the introduction about choices she made while translating, but now that I’ve finished reading it, I can say it does a beautiful, faithful job of illuminating the saint’s ideas and intents for us and is faithful to the teaching of the scriptures.

Do you have any questions about all this before we move further into the series?

The week has been full of much goodness and much activity — the end of a week-long gathering of friends, several freelance projects in the works, a print deadline, and Kirk returning home from an 11-day trip. Accordingly, my attention and energy have been directed those places instead of here, at least temporarily.

In the desire to give this series and you my best, I’ll be returning next Monday to pick up where we left off.

It’s a busy week for me — print week at the magazine where I serve as staff copyeditor, which means an all-out sprint and lots of loose ends to corral. I’ve decided to take a break from posting written content here this week, but will offer an image each day this week in its place. (Yay for pretty images!)

Also, I’d love to get your thoughts on something.

In prayer conversations with Jesus of late, he’s indicated a level of entrustment to me concerning the direction of the content offered here at Still Forming. I’m considering moving toward a more in-depth series approach to the content — rather than individual week-daily posts unrelated to each other, moving more toward the kind of explorations we did over a series of weeks with suffering and living a rhythmed life.

If this space moved in that direction, would you make any requests for specific topics to be covered? So far, I’ve been holding ideas for separate series covering the following:

Yesterday, I invited you to consider where you find places of rest and whether you’ve found an interior posture of rest that you carry with you everywhere.

Today I want to talk about taking much-needed breaths.

Do you have time for taking breaths?

Let’s think about this in a physical way.

Our physical breath is closely connected to the life source of our bodies — the heart, as well as the blood that pumps throughout our bodies because of the work of the heart. If we hold our breath, not allowing any breath to come in or out, our blood not only starves of oxygen, but our hearts eventually pump into overdrive and could ultimately stop beating altogether.

I’ve been thinking about our metaphorical need for breath for a little over a year now. It started when I began work on my master’s thesis proposal and decided to study our increasing connectivity online and how it affects our spiritual lives. I read many books about the way the internet is affecting our brains, our bodies, and our spirits.

And I realized at the end of it all:

We need space to breathe.

We need, in the midst of all the craziness and noise, to connect to the ground of our being. We need to breath practices to keep us alive.

This last year has been a journey of experiments, then. Of putting into motion the different ways I saw that I could personally offer spaces for breathing that keep us connected to the heartbeat of our lives and selves.

As know you, one of the primary offerings became this space at Still Forming, which became transformed into a week-daily oasis from the noise. And along the way, other places for rest and reflection — for breathing — were added too.

This past weekend, I did a little spring cleaning and sprucing up of the oasis of Still Forming to reflect all the “breath spaces” offered here for you.

You can sign up for the once-a-week Cup of Sunday Quiet that arrives in your inbox on Sundays as an invitation to quiet and reflection and connection at least once a week. You can read about how the Look at Jesus course that launched last year is in redevelopment to become a year-long, self-paced journey into getting to know Jesus more, traveled in companionship with me.

Lastly, I updated my bio and then gave this lovely space a brand-new tagline (see updated site banner!):

A space for reflection. An oasis from the noise.

Now, that’s better.

I hope that no matter where you are or how you choose to find it, you find places to rest and breathe on a regular basis. Know that I’m here to champion the much-needed oxygen such “breath times” bring into our lives and to provide time and space for that here the best way I know how.

I’ve been working behind the scenes to prepare something lovely for you, and today is finally the day to share it.

It’s called the Cup of Sunday Quiet.

You know how every morning, I spend time at my desk in the quiet?

I bring my tumbler full of coffee over to this favorite corner of my home, and I spend time each morning sitting here. Diva always joins me, prowling around at my feet and eventually jumping up onto the desk, sitting quietly for what can lead to long stretches of time without moving. (How in the world does she do that?)

And during that time, I read the Scriptures. I stare out the window at my neighborhood coming to life. I think. I read. I write.

And I pray.

This is sacred time for me. Out of that time comes the week-daily posts I write here in this space for you. It is time saturated with conversations with Jesus about my heart, my life, my life’s work and calling, my questions and wonderings and praise. It is time Jesus talks to me about himself, about me, about the world he set me into, about you.

It is such sacred time.

And do you know what?

I want to create space for you to have such sacred time, too.

I know not everyone has the luxury of spending extended time in the quiet each day. I know that life can get so harried and busy that even coming here for the “oasis from the noise” that’s offered Monday through Friday is just not on the radar for all.

But what if, once a week, you received a gentle invitation into that quiet?

What if, once a week, you had a chance to sit down and share that cup of morning quiet with me?

That’s what the Cup of Sunday Quiet is for.

Consider it a once-a-week invitation from me into reflective space — a space to connect with your heart and with God (and a little bit with me).

The Cup of Sunday Quiet is delivered to your inbox every Sunday. It includes:

A bit of personal musings from me, inspired by the time in the quiet I’ve shared with God that week. Between you and me, I like to think of this part as though we’re sharing a quiet conversation over a cup of coffee — I share a bit of my heart and maybe hear back a bit of your own.

A round-up of the previous week’s posts from Still Forming — since, again, I know getting here each day is just not realistic for everyone. This weekly e-mail brings those posts to you in a round-up format.

A little something special I’m calling the “weekly lectio.” When you subscribe, you’ll get a chance to hear more about that and how it came to be, but the sneak-peek version is that it’s an audio recording from me each week that connects you to God and the Scriptures.

I carried a secret smile with me all day yesterday, every time I thought about the year of being faithful that was being celebrated in this space.

This website is such holy ground for me, and offering you a bit of stillness and reflection here each day has become a precious priority. It is so connected to where God is leading me to direct the prominent focus of my life, and yesterday was a great reminder to me of that.

It felt great to celebrate.

And it was so much fun to hear what you’d like to receive in this space in the coming year!

Meditations on old hymns.

Reflections on the spiritual disciplines, particularly from the vantage point of my own experience.

More thoughts on getting close to God.

Additional insights on discernment.

So much fun! I love all of these ideas, and it was great to learn what you would find most personally meaningful.

I’m beginning to think through how these kind of reflections might show up on the site in the coming year. And you are still welcome to add to the list by leaving a comment below (or, if you’re more comfortable, sending me an email to christianne at stillforming dot com).

The offer to pray for you in some specific way still stands, too, if you’d like to connect with me about that.

I’ve been anticipating this day for some time now! A year ago today, I started my commitment to write week-daily contemplative reflections in this space for you.

A year of being faithful.

I don’t know that I’ve ever told you the reason these week-daily posts began. It happened because of my graduate research proposal (which I wrote last spring, in May 2011) that studied the intersection of digital connectivity and spirituality.

How does the pervasiveness of the internet affect our interior lives?

What have we lost in our increasing lifestyle of digital connectivity?

What have we gained?

What do our spiritual lives need in order to thrive?

Where can we find spaces to stop, go inward, and connect to God and ourselves in the midst of all that clicking?

These are the questions I took with me into my research, and these are the questions that informed the commitments I made at the end of it in response to what I learned.

Through that process, I became committed to ways I could help.

This site began in October 2008 as a space to chronicle my own interior journey and explore my evolving ideas about spiritual formation as I studied. But in May 2011, on the heels of that research proposal, it changed.

It became an oasis from the noise. For you.

As I look back over this past year, I can see how God used this commitment to writing week-daily posts in this space to grow in me a greater character of faithfulness.

When I began the commitment, I often missed a day here or there each week. I averaged four posts a week, rather than five. And there was no specific place in my schedule where those posts got written each day. I tried to write them in the morning, but other commitments often took me away from home, so sometimes I’d write them at the end of the day.

This space is a regular part of my life now. A place that is a part of me. A place where I am faithful.

I feel like celebrating somehow.

As I’ve been thinking of ways to celebrate this last year’s journey with you, I keep coming back to you.

What kinds of things would you like to receive in this space in the new year ahead? Is there anything you’d like to see change?

I’m all ears to receive your thoughts if you’d like to share them. Leave me a comment or send me an email at christianne at stillforming dot com, and I will gladly receive what you have to say and see how it can be offered here.

Also, I’d love to be able to pray for you. If there’s some specific way I can hold you in my heart before Jesus, again, send me an email at christianne at stillforming dot com. I will hold you in prayer and then send you back a written response of that prayer.

Today, I’m celebrating a year of faithfulness. Won’t you celebrate with me too?

Just wanted to share that registration for the Look at Jesus course will close this coming Sunday evening, and the course officially begins on Monday. Hooray!

I hardly know how to express to you just how much I adore this course. My first time teaching it last fall was an incredible experience — the dialogue and interaction between all who participated was so stimulating and grace-filled — and you probably already know there is nothing better in my book than spending time looking at Jesus and sharing about him with you.

In case you’re new here (ie., weren’t around when I launched the pilot course last fall), you can get a sense of my heart for this course and my heart for you in it through this video that I created last fall to share the story behind its creation.

Would you like to join us? Spots are still available, but registration closes in just four days. Click here to register.

On Friday night, I got an e-mail from a friend offering me a totally unexpected and almost-too-good-to-be-true opportunity. Her husband’s parents had rented a condo on Captiva Island for the week and were unable to use it at the last minute due to illness. Did Kirk and I want to come and make use of it instead, free of charge?

Did we? Um, let me check my calendar for a moment. *Clears calendar*

So here we are, still pinching ourselves two days later.

It is not lost on me that I’m spending a week on the beach — the same place I walk and talk with Jesus on a daily basis these days. And for the next slate of days, I get to walk on the actual beach with him. Actual sand on my feet, actual water on my calves, an actual shoreline on which to walk back and forth, an actual beach upon which to sit and talk with him.

I wonder how he will meet me here this week? You can bet that I will share it here with you.

And in the meantime …

Registration for the Look at Jesus course is now officially open!

I can’t tell you how excited and blessed I feel to be offering this course for a second time. To register, go to the course details page and click on the “Buy Now” button listed in the right-hand sidebar.

Note: Once you register, you will be redirected to a private page that offers a welcome message from me — including a fun welcome video and some questions to get you started that will help me get to know you.

I’m excited to share that I will be opening registration for the next offering of the Look at Jesus course on March 19, and I hope you will consider joining us this time around.

The course begins April 2 and runs for six weeks. The cost is $55 USD. Enrollment is limited to 10 participants.

Above is a short video invite that gives you a little peek into my heart for this course. You can also get all the details and questions about the course answered on the course page. A few extra videos that were created for the pilot offering are also available here, here, and here.

Please let me know if you have any questions — I’d love to help you decide if this is the course for you this time around!

Sometimes I get tripped up when thinking about the true self and false self. Does that ever happen to you?

It can happen like this.

I’m aware of my true, created life in God, and when I’m living life from that place, everything within and around me becomes timeless. Everything holds a glow of beauty and perfection because God-in-everything becomes so evident in that place. Purity of heart, mind, body, and spirit abounds.

Living in that place, I experience rest and hope and joy. I can breathe, and I can say with full conviction it is well with my soul.

But I don’t live from that posture of my true self all of my living, breathing moments.

There’s also the false self.

This is the scrappy, stingy, worried, anxious, competitive, blaming, conniving self. It’s a distracted, consuming self. In its more tempered moments, it’s simply a shell of a real self.

I don’t live all my living, breathing moments from this place, either.

They’re both there.

I’m continually invited or compelled toward one or the other by forces outside myself and by habits built up within myself. On any given day, I’m an admixture of my true self and false self.

That admixture creates the reality of self.

The reality of self is who I am in this very moment, living on this very earth, walking in this very moment deeper into my formation.

Will I be formed more fully into my true self?

Will I be de-formed by my false self?

These are the living, breathing questions faced by the reality of self each day.

And this place of still forming — of reflecting on the reality of our formation in still moments and of acknowledging that we are forming, still, each day that we live — is one place those questions meet with our appraisal.

In the last several months, I’ve noticed a theme crop up in numerous conversations with friends, acquaintances, and strangers. That theme has, at its root, a question:

What does it look like for me to connect to God in my specific life station or personality type?

This has a lot of bearing on the work done here at Still Forming, and I’ve begun to take this question seriously.

For instance, the foundation of this site is a week-daily invitation to a moment of stillness in your day. But what if moments of stillness rarely exist in your world? What do you do if quiet reflections of the heart are a luxury you can barely fathom?

Or, what if you’re an extrovert? What if you’d rather be outdoors than sitting quietly at your desk, reading the scriptures? What if you need to see and hear and touch God to know he’s real, rather than use your intuition?

In other words:

Is there room for me and God to connect, no matter where I am in life or how I’m made?

My response to that question is yes. And I’ll share more of my thoughts on this here with you as I continue to explore and consider the question. (Some of my thoughts on the question have been previously written here, here, here, and here.)

But for now, I’d like to open up an opportunity for you to share your input.

Where is God where you live right now? How are you finding God in the midst of your current life station?

How do you connect to God through the way you’re made? How does he make himself uniquely personal to you and the person that you are?